Oranges
by hollylizzy
Summary: Oneshot. Hatori likes oranges. But that doesn't mean they have to like him back...


i'm on a roll!  
oneshot. written after my cousin threw a peeled orange at me and it hit me in the eye. i know, it needs paragraphing and stuff, and spellchecking, but i'm bloody tired.  
read and review!

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Hatori sighed and pushed his glasses back up his nose. It was quarter to one in the morning, and as much as the Dragon loved his sleep, he had no choice but to carry on working. He ran a hand through his usually sleek hair and reached across the desk for one of the oranges that he kept in a bowl in case of emergencies. They stood out amongst the dull beige and black of his books and papers, a stark contrast to an otherwise serious atmosphere. They cheered him up. Hatori bit into the orange and began to peel the skin away from the soft fruit inside, accidentially piercing the flesh and watching a line of sticky, sweet syrup run down the inside of his wrist and drip onto the stack of papers below. Damn. He cursed under his breath, balanced the offending fruit inside a dirty, two week old mug and began to gingerly wipe at the paper with the pads of his fingers, only suceeding in smudging the ink further across the page and completely obliterating a large, blotchy diagram of the human brain cut in two. He glared at the orange. Stupid, cheerful orange. Even with half your skin peeled off and your innards hanging out, you're still happy.

Hatori prodded the orange with his finger reproachfully, watching as it rocked unsteadily on the mug and fell backwards, squelchy side down, on a sketch of the female reproductive system. Aargh! Hatori yelped and leant over the desk in despair, watching as the juice oozed over the pages, sending the intimate areas of the average female drift across his desk in a puddle of fruit syrup and ink. Do not lose your temper. Shouting at an orange will not get you anywhere.

'Foolish, frivolous orange!'

His mind was right; it hadn't got him anywhere, but it made him feel better. Sighing, he poked again at the orange, this time with a glittery pink ruler printed with bunnies (christmas present from Momiji) and watched as the orange descended into the depths of the wastepaper bin, landing with a satisfying squelch. He walked over to the other side of the desk and picked up the papers, dabbing at the wet patches with a piece of cloth usually reserved for cleaning his glasses. Oh, what a change! What excitement! The piece of cloth almost quivered with happiness - maybe, just maybe, this was its big break. Instead of being a lowly glass cleaner, it might just be promoted to window wiper! Or even - lets not get ahead of ourselves, here - part of a mop! The cloths dreams were cruelly shattered as it was flung across the room by a rather frustrated Dragon, landing in a corner under a chair, never to be seen again.

Hatori held the paper up to the fan and waved it feebly in front of the wave of air, hoping to dry it off. Giving up, he resorted to wiping it with the back of his hand. I have done many strange things in my career as family doctor, he mused, but I never thought I'd be wiping orange juice off some poor souls fallopian tubes. Then again, he wouldn't have been surprised if it was Rin - only god knows what she and Haru got up to at night, judging by the dislocated shoulders, knees and various other unusual ailments he had had to deal with since the two had started sleeping together. Hatori shuddered, remembering the rather embarassing ocassion upon which Kagura and Isuzu had been frogmarched to his office by Kagura's mother, who had demanded that he give them both a 'thorough, intimate examination'. And the rather embarassing occasion before that, when Ayame had come to him in great distress after coupling with another snake and not realising until it was too late that the other snake was in fact a male of the species. And the rather...that was enough. Hatori bit his tongue in order to keep his mouth shut, for fear of having a sudden fit of hysterical laughter or throwing up. Either option was terrifying. He hadn't had a hysterical fit of laughter since middle school, when Shigure had got his head stuck between two lockers in the changing rooms in a feeble attempt to spy on the girls in the block opposite and had to be removed by the fire brigade, and he hadn't thrown up since Akito had given him a rather nasty strain of Flu a year ago, and he spent two weeks wrapped in heated blankets and drinking soup through a straw. Hatori sighed heavily and slid down the back of his desk, landing in a rather undignified manner on the carpeted floor with his head on his knees, glasses pushed up to his forehead.

'Gaaaaah.'

Hatori blanched; was that him who had just let an animalistic noise leak of frustration from his throat? Must...remain...dignified...at...all...times. Dignified...and...composed. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, undoing his tie and leaving it in a silky puddle by his left hand. Oh god. So tired. So...very tired. Hatori thought of his bed, that safe haven where white cotton lulled you to sleep and feathery pillows welcomed your head with open...arms? Did pillows have arms? Did he care? He pushed himself up from the floor and stumbled, eyes half-shut, towards the door. When suddenly, oh, the horror, the trauma, the grief, his foot caught in the wastepaper basket, sending him flying across the room and crash landing by one of the plush chairs. His last memory before a soggy, bright orange flying missile hit him in the eye and knocked him out cold was that of a thousand multicoloured stars spinning around his head.

_Gaaaargh.  
__Why am I...floor...too bright...stinging eye...sticky? Sticky? Smells like...  
_'Bloody oranges!'


End file.
